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I slowly unpack myself. Knowing fully well; this
time, I wouldn't fight. Flow like a river!

The move is what we need perhaps. But, the actual
process of moving: walking into the unknown is frightening. And, am just this
bohemian at heart! My uber-sensitive
constitution is humming with the vibrations of possible change. Processing!

The mist sings hauntingly here at night, and it is
quiet. In the morning the sounds of traffic rise with the sun. During the day
there are mynahs on my terrace. They remind me of my childhood: where my favorite time was to lie down and watch the white fluff of clouds float by on azure blue
sky… and watch the mynahs preening. I love their exotic calling during the day.

Nirvaans now forming complex sentences and blocks and communicating everything
he wants. He’s fearless and slight of hand, that boy of mine. Sure footed and
confident everywhere. He explores. He plays. And is quite headstrong!

I readjust the furniture around the house. There
is good light in the living room, with French windows perfect for basking.

In the morning when air is still white and
untouched by yellow sunlight, we lie in bed, under the duvet; rubbing noses,
making pillow forts and playing hide and seek. In the evenings, three of us, talking shop, gleeful, contented.

Unwittingly, I have a completion of a family. Very
staid yet special… in that inexplicable way!

Sunrise crisp morning and a huge, pink cumulus right
on the horizon, bigger than imagination, wider than a dream. He comes over, carries
his coffee mug. We stand looking. Him all dressed and ready to leave and me
just out of bed. Nirvaans happily tucked in. He holds me close; presses his
lips into my hair. The blue sky getting ready to welcome the sun’s flame. This view! Him holding me, just tentative,
just enough!

He leaves.

Immersed in house chores later, I hear the
sparrows chirp and doves call, as if just for me.

It’s these things I’ll miss. The way the sky feels
mine. The lived-in aura of this place I call home. The love pad it has become!
The way walls sing and play with Nirvaans artwork. The ways there are fairy
lights all over the terrace. The way my kitchen is still an echo of my single
bachelor days.

Isn't this always the way? The hardest part of
change is the anticipation that comes before; the huge fractured maze of what
we can’t imagine. Known becomes nostalgia overnight. Not because it is right or
true, but because the course is already set. Because the heart knows its way
through, each turns familiar and made by habit.